16

He'd spent what felt like a night at the cavern shrine, learning all that he could from its tall, shining goddess. She gave him a map, of sorts, which became part of his mind. A thing he could sort of… page back to consult. Only,

"It has been a very long time since the springs were last active, Miche," she told him, hovering light as a leaf, over her shimmering pool. "The landscape has certainly changed since this map was produced, but the shrines should be present as marked, unless drift has altered the world and buried them."

He nodded, getting his first real look at the place he'd awakened to. There were twelve shrines, he saw, spread out over three major continents and a scatter of islands. One of them glowed. The one he had come to, maybe?

"You said that your lands have been vanishing," he mused, thinking aloud. "Is that why some of the map appears darkened?" Whole sections were dim; wouldn't expand when he looked at them.

"That is possible," the goddess replied. "We do not get out much. Our place is here, assisting the Old Ones… but you are the first to command our service in age beyond record. All I know is that springs have been dropped from the chain, like beacons that no longer light. You must visit all that remain, though, returning the stone to its home."

She looked sad as she said this, floating there with her dark hair adrift. Suddenly recalling the artifact, he drew the strange object out of its magical pocket and held it forth.

"I was given this by a construct I met inside a dead airship," he explained. "Would you know what I am meant to do with it?"

The cylinder rested on top of his palm; perfectly balanced, whirling smoothly now, striped with colors and filled with small sparks. Drifting nearer, the goddess cocked her head to one side. Then she reached forth a slim hand, one glowing finger outstretched to tap at it. At her touch, the object flared with sudden harsh light. She flickered, and just for an instant, everything…

***

…restored again, more or less the same as it had been. The fey-lights shot up all at once, forming a wasp-like vortex. The shrine-goddess flashed from dark-haired to light and then back again. Nameless was all at once tawny-furred, running in frantic circles and screeching madly.

"Put it away," urged the goddess. "That is a mighty talisman for good or ill, at the whim of its bearer. Like the springs, it is part of a system, but which one, I cannot remember, if ever I knew."

Right.

He shoved the thing hurriedly into its pocket. Left her shrine very soon afterward, having gained many more questions than answers; armed with a map that no longer matched that dark, tortured land.

Consulting the chart (just had to move his eyes leftward and wonder about his location) he decided to keep heading west. Why? No special reason, except that he had to go someplace, and there lay the next nearest shrine, bang in a region of darkness. So, he emerged from the cavern with Nameless and a trio of fey-lights that clung to his braided gold hair.

Onto a sunlit ledge he stepped, then carefully over the rim of the crater. There, he crouched down to listen and wait for a while. Sensed nothing at all of his attackers, at first. No motion, no bodies or bloodstains. Just scurrying creatures, sparse trees and a hawk, circling high overhead.

Nameless stretched in the rising sunlight, then scampered off to get breakfast. A good sign, that. As for himself, the wanderer waited half a candle-mark longer, then stood up and went to the shade of a massive, petrified stump. Had he been able to hold his own hands, forming a chain, it would have taken at least twelve of him to encircle its base. Three of him, to reach its rough top. The fallen trunk lay like a slaughtered titan, stretching away from the crater and stump.

For some reason, he picked up a shard of its petrified wood and something that looked like a seed. After all, you never knew, he thought. There were healing springs and… and… somebody else that he couldn't remember. Someone who knew about trees.

Shrugging, he put the finds away, then poked around, very quietly. Turned out that cautious movement was good, because scouts had been posted on a crag overlooking a nearby stream. Sadly for them, they'd sky-lined themselves; were easily seen from below. Question was, what to do about it? Slip past, or solve the immediate problem?

Nameless was still out somewhere hunting, and those goblinoid scouts weren't all that bright. He had time to think and observe. They'd built a small blaze, but weren't very good with it. Smokey and low, their campfire kept going out.

Carefully staying downwind, he pulled out his bow and a barbed hunting arrow. Keeping to cover, silent as only a stalking elf can be, he looked for a good place to line up a shot.

One of those petrified tree stumps supplied what he needed, both concealing his climb and providing a stable, high platform from which to watch the bickering scouts. The stump wasn't smooth on top, having been twisted and splintered, seemingly yanked halfway out of the ground before turning to stone.

There had been rooms carved into it. Someone's abandoned home, he guessed. His lookout and shooting-blind, now. Got himself into position, sun warm on his shoulders, shadows still long. Crept forward to look down at three ugly and quarrelsome goblinoid warriors. They were lightly armored. Chainmail and leather, it looked like. The only weapons he saw were plain wooden bows, clubs and spears. From this vantage point, three easy marks for arrow or flame.

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"One… two… three," he whispered. "Dead, every one of you."

It would have been quick. Simple. The only real trouble was… mercy, or common sense? Sneak off with a foe at his back, or risk raising a wider alarm?

He hadn't quite made up his mind (but leaning, maybe, toward avoiding trouble) when something came clanking and lumbering out of the north. An iron giant shaped like a person stomped through the woods, shaking trees with each stride, sending flocks of birds wheeling and shrieking into the sky. There was a glowing red spiral marking its chestplate, and seeing that awful mark stung. Seemed to burn his own flesh, right where the sigil of Chaos had been.

He knew very few curses. Unpacked and snarled every one of them, now. The giant was hunting, he sensed. Drawn by shared chaos-stain, looking for him. Found something else on its way, though.

Down on their perch, the goblin scouts howled and gibbered in terror, diving off of that stony crag. The giant (fifteen, maybe twenty feet tall) produced a beam of red light in response, blasting their outpost to rubble. With a harsh, grating cry, it stomped two of the scouts into blood-pulp and bone splinters. Then, with a whole-body lightning flash, the metal giant fried their remains off its armor.

It stopped, then; the blank, helmeted head turning slowly around on its armor-ringed neck. A pinging noise flashed away from it, like someone repeatedly plucking the final string of a god-harp. With each ping came a globe of crackling force that hurtled outward, sweeping straight through him and the last, shaking scout.

The goblinoid howled, throwing a useless spear that bounced off the monster's leg with a sad little 'plik'.

"No," hissed the watching, frustrated elf. "Don't attack it directly. Dodge! Out-think it!"

But the scout was too frightened to move. Moaning, the warrior froze, unable to flee as the giant's foot rose, blocking the sun.

Good, clean shot. Straight through the eye and into that terrified brain. He took aim, drew and released in one fluid motion, ending the goblin scout's life before that armored boot could descend. The goblin collapsed with a final, hissed breath, felled by the best shot he'd ever made (in a month and a half of life).

The massive foot came down like a thunderbolt, reducing its target to bone-flecked slime and then ash… but the giant somehow retraced the path of his arrow; causing a shining blue ghost of his shot to zip backward from dead scout to…

Holy gods. Holy flame.

Useless to jump. Like those pulped goblins, he'd only be crushed, while the petrified tree stump was blasted to sand behind him. Instead, he leapt into one of its ancient, carved rooms and then downward, taking a narrow stairway without ever hitting its steps, plunging straight through. Scraped and bruised himself landing, but barely noticed. The entire stone tree shuddered as the giant outside began battering at it.

He raced further in through a hollowed-out root and into a cave system, feeling the floor quake beneath him; dodging fragments of falling stone. A storm of red light pierced the cave roof, punching dozens of holes as the monster hunted him down. The ground above crumbled, becoming a web-work of craters and zigzagging cracks.

A good thing for him, but not for the giant, which he could see, and maybe entrap. Like a mouse under the floorboards of some rustic's hut, he darted and scurried; summoning flame as he lured the construct onto a heavily pocked section of cave.

"This way," he grunted. "Come after me, blood-seeker."

It did, pivoting to follow its quarry's frenzied and darting retreat. One great metal foot came down on that tattered ceiling, then another. And then, with a loud, grinding crash, the giant fell through. Not much of a drop, for something that size, but enough to measure its length on the crumbling surface, face-first. The elf had to smoke-step wildly, to avoid being smashed by its thundering fall.

Rejecting his bow, he called upon flame, drawing all of the manna that clung to this lost, empty place. Something flowed into him, then. More than just power; a fiery presence.

Levitating, he shot past the giant's thrashing right arm. Dodged a spread-fingered grab, zipping through huge metal digits, then out of the cave and high overhead.

Next, with absolutely all that he had, he unleashed fire and rage; aiming straight at the giant's slow-turning head. Spotted a target: a seam in the armor-plate sprung by its crashing collapse. Into that gap he poured flame and then, using his conjured sword, ice-bolt after shrilling ice-bolt.

The giant locked up, mid-rise. Then, juddering wildly, it smashed the cavern system like a house of cards, crashing through floor after floor with a noise like thunder and great clouds of dust. Far below, trapped in stone, it exploded.

A tremendous hail of rock and metal blasted outward, along with an earth-shaking roar. The wave of concussive force hit him first, though, swatting him out of the sky to land hundreds of yards away. He struck hard, bounced, rolled and slid, plunging over the rim and into the crater. Red-bloody-hurting-unconscious.

It was the fey-lights that saved him. Somehow, they sank themselves into his broken body; stanching blood flow and straightening shattered limbs. He'd landed hard on a scree slope. Was riddled with bits of sharp metal and rock. Breath bubbled out with the blood from too many holes to count, until… quite painfully… the shards were pushed out and his wounds were repaired.

Meanwhile, that glowing red spiral had come away from the fallen giant. It rose now to swirl through the air, hovering over the crater. Hung there for several very long heartbeats, as though watching him. Twisting, knotting and flowing.

Finally shot away northward, back to whatever had sent it. The elf was a jangling bundle of nerves and raw pain, but the place on his chest where Chaos had marked him burned hot in response to the spiral's last flicker.

It had been part of him. Could always find him again… and not a cursed thing he could do about it.

The fey-lights were gone, having given their all to resurrect a near-corpse.

"I thank you," he whispered, inclining his head. "Not sure that I'm worth it, but I honor your sacrifice, anyhow."

Got to his feet as… chirp by shy twitter… birds and insects began making noise once again. That fiery presence was still inside of him, lending strength and a touch of vitality. Felt oddly familiar, but he didn't have time to explore the thought because, there on the rim of the crater stood yet another goblin scout.

Four? There had been four of them? One watching from cover? Wherever it came from, this one stood staring, spear in one hand, Nameless squirming and scratching in the other.

The marten was gripped by the furry scruff of its neck. Even from this remove, he could smell the animal's battle-stench, along with the goblinoid's reek.

His sword had fallen some distance away. The rest of his weapons were still in their magical pockets. Only, the scout didn't try to descend or attack. Just released Nameless, thumped the butt of its spear on the ground, once, then backed off into the brush.

Screeching and yapping, the marten raced down to join Miche. Smelt like twelve hells in a bottle, along with some very old egg. Didn't matter. He knelt down to greet and embrace his small friend. Saying stupid stuff. Maybe crying a little, behind the screen of his hair.

"You're an idiot," he murmured. "We both are, and both of us ought to be dead… but we're here. Maybe that means we go find out what's wrong with this place, and then fix it."

Somehow.